


Secondhand Smoke

by gettingby



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Love Spell, M/M, Magic Gone Wrong, Watford Eighth Year, watford era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gettingby/pseuds/gettingby
Summary: Eighth year has barely begun and Simon’s magic has already caused a crisis. Why is everyone at Watford in love with Simon, and why is Baz completely unaffected?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 32
Kudos: 315





	Secondhand Smoke

**SIMON**

My magic is out of control. It’s settled in the air like a thick layer of smog and it won’t budge. I nearly went off, but I didn’t - and now it’s just here, suspended between a match and an explosion. As if when the Mage told me to go, it clung on as hard as it could to this place, the way I wanted to.

I’m still in my room, looking out the window at the commotion below. All over the lawn, people are racing into Mummers and the Cloisters, holding jumpers against their faces. Those are the ones who are still on their feet; the rest are doubled over coughing, or fully collapsed against the grass. My magic, which is still beating against my skin as if it didn't already overflow, spikes at the sight. I’m no stranger to beginning-of-the-year catastrophes by now. This is different: I can’t be the hero this time. I want to run down the stairs of Mummers, summon my sword, and hack at the villainous creature that caused all of this, but I can’t do that, can I?

So I make sure the window’s shut, even though I’m burning up, and strip down completely next to my bed, since Baz isn’t back yet. I step into the shower and wrench the knob to the coldest setting. It runs down my body in soothing waves.

I’m dreading going back into my room and having to face this situation again, so I stay in the shower much longer than usual. 

When I emerge from the en-suite in only a towel, I’m greeted by the sight of Baz lounging on his bed, tie loose and shirt unbuttoned halfway down, looking as if he’s not got a care in the world.

I quickly grab my Watford-issue pajamas from my wardrobe and return to the en suite. I watch myself in the mirror and think about how calm Baz looked, and I’ve worked myself into a full strop by the time I step out fully clothed.

“I should have known you were behind this!”

Baz looks up from his book and raises an eyebrow. “I assure you that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“My magic - the whole school is choking on it! Except you, apparently. What did you do to me?”

He looks around as if he expects to see my magic floating around, like a bad smell from a cartoon. “I was out for most of the day, Snow. I’m sorry I missed your first disaster of the year. And two whole days before the term starts! Is that a record?”

I wrench the window open and look out onto the lawn. The smell of my burnt-out magic wafts in. The lawn is still deserted, except for an unlucky second year who’s probably just been dropped off. She’s hacking miserably the whole way to the Cloisters.

“I know you’re behind this,” I grumble. “How are you the only person that’s not affected?”

Baz sneers. “Maybe I’m just used to sharing a room with an open fire.”

*

“Snow, I am going to fucking kill you if you don’t make that stop.”

Baz groans and shoves his pillow over his head, to drown out the racket, I assume. It sounds like every numpty in London is throwing itself at my door. 

I’m already on my feet, sword in hand, before he can comment further.

When I crack the door open, I see Rhys and Gareth in their pajamas, looking disheveled and wild-eyed. Gareth is shoving Rhys against the wall, while Rhys has pinned Gareth’s foot under his wheelchair.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping into a fighting stance. “Who’s attacking us?”

As soon as I speak, the two of them quit wrangling. 

“Simon,” Gareth croons, sickly sweet. “I brought these for you.”

He opens his palm to reveal moist, crushed wildflowers.

“And I brought these for you,” Rhys adds, unzipping his book bag. He hands me a Ziplock bag full of Aero bars.

“Sweet!” I say, pulling it open and ignoring Gareth completely. My brain catches up to me before I completely unwrap my first Aero. “Wait...what’s happening?”

I hear the commotion on the stairs before I see it. Dev and Niall are rushing towards my door. Niall’s holding a giant teddy bear. Dev throws something at me, which I catch and then _immediately_ toss away.

Used pants.

“Fuck,” I breathe, slamming the door in my hurry to retreat into my room.

*

“If another little bird tries to fly through that window, I’m going to drain it and then you.”

I sit up on my bed and yank the cotton balls out of my ears. (It’s the only way I could go back to sleep. Baz put a silencing spell on the door, but it only works for him, because he says that I deserve to suffer the consequences of my actions.) 

“Wait, did you just admit to being a vampire?”

“Metaphorically,” Baz adds quickly. I reach into my shirt and rub my cross, just to check if it’s still there.

“Maybe we should let in some of the birds. They could be from the Mage,” I muse while munching on Rhys’ mint Aero. “Maybe he knows what’s causing this.”

“I don’t think you want to hear anything the Mage would say to you right now,” Baz drawls.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Baz rolls his eyes and walks to the window. He opens it, grabs a bird, rips the note from its claws, and tosses it back outside in one graceful motion.

“Dear Simon,” he begins to read, voice dripping with contempt. “My heart has been aching for you, along with the bulge in my—” He turns pink and throws the crumpled note at me. “Just, read it yourself.”

I skim it quickly. It’s from a seventh year I’ve never spoken to before, a burly bloke who plays for our rugby team. He’s surprisingly prosaic. And extremely graphic.

“Um,” I say, finally. “What exactly is happening here?”

**PENNY**

Agatha sips her tea next to me while I furiously highlight my Magic Words textbook.

“There must be something in here to reverse this spell,” I mutter.

Agatha sighs. “I mean, no one’s coughing today at least. I’m sure this will wear off soon enough.”

“That’s not good enough,” I snap. Fortunately, Simon doesn’t have any family members at Watford, or this would be an extremely awkward situation. That being said, I’m about as comfortable with the strange thoughts crossing my mind as a blood relative would be. “I just hope this doesn’t lead to the two of you getting back together, Agatha.”

She sighs. “Simon _did_ look so upset at the picnic…and Mum would be pleased.” She sets her chin in her hand and goes glassy-eyed.

I snap my fingers in her face. “Come off it, Agatha!”

She startles, then buries her face in her hands. “Oh, fuck me.”

I return to my reading, mostly to distract myself from intrusive thoughts about Simon’s facial features. Agatha and I both jump when someone slides into Simon’s seat across from us. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of--being accosted by a jealous admirer of Simon’s, or seeing Simon himself right now.

**BAZ**

I tolerate about thirty seconds of Dev and Niall’s mooning at breakfast before I stride over to Snow’s empty seat and slam down my cup of tea.

“Bunce. Wellbelove. What in Crowley’s name did the Chosen One do this time?”

“Other than grace us with his adorable ears?” Bunce answers, then looks like she’s about to vomit. “Oh, for Crowley’s sake! He’s like my _brother_.”

“That’s what you’ve always wanted me to believe,” Wellbelove spits. “Is that why you pushed me to break up with him?”

“Agatha, come off it,” Penny mutters.

Wellbelove shakes her head vigorously. “Merin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Bunce sighs. “Good morning, Basilton.”

“How was it, waking up next to _Simon?_ ” Wellbelove asks. I give her an exasperated look, and she turns pink and goes back to staring at her tea.

“Even more terrible than usual,” I reply. “Half of Mummers was trying to knock down our door.”

“Crowley,” Bunce says. She turns a page in our Magic Words textbook. “I’m trying to find some kind of counterspell, but it’s awfully hard when I can’t stop thinking about Simon’s jawline.”

“It could cut glass,” Wellbelove agrees. She turns her gaze on me. “Couldn’t it, Basil?”

I curl my lip. “Can’t say I’ve noticed.”

I leave the dining hall then because I can’t take it any more.

Even though it’s mid-morning, I make for the Catacombs. Classes are delayed due to the Snow-related crisis. None of the students can focus anyway - and I suspect that the teachers who were around at the time were affected, and don’t want to be around Snow or the other students until it wears off.

I need to clear my head, and I certainly can’t go back to the room, where Snow has quarantined himself in an effort to avoid his admirers.

When I reach the tomb, I spell the ground clean and sit down. 

I think this is the worst first day I’ve had at Watford, and that’s really saying something. Coming back for sixth year and realising that my incessant wanking the previous summer, combined with the fact that Snow was only growing into his looks, made for an incredibly uncomfortable semester. Let’s just say that it was the year I discovered that **nothing to see here** worked on erections.

I know that I should be affected by this love - spell? Plague? I don’t know if anything similar has ever happened in the history of magic. I know that I’m obsessed with Snow, but it’s a little disheartening to have that proven beyond a doubt by magic. Even Bunce can’t control her attraction to him. Dev and Niall are writing sonnets to him. Everyone’s obsession with Simon is over-the-top - and yet, apparently mine is worse. So much so that the spell couldn’t make it stronger at all.

Once I realised what had happened, I considered playing along. I can’t imagine how cathartic it would be to just confess to Simon everything that I feel for him. Wear my heart on my sleeve for once. But I can’t do that - for one, it’s disingenuous. And it would be incredibly obvious that my feelings for him extend beyond mere attraction.

At any rate, if his roommate and self-professed nemesis started making passes at him, even under the guise of a love spell, Simon would break my nose a second time and get himself expelled.

**SIMON**

Everyone at this school - even Penny - is hitting on me. In Penny’s defence, she’s trying really hard not to. She brought me breakfast and only made one weird comment about my forearms. That’s how I know that this spell is completely bogus - not only would Penny never be attracted to me, but after being in care all summer, my arms look like twigs.

She also told me that she saw Baz at breakfast and he was the only person in the room - in the entire school - who hadn’t gone insane. (Even Agatha is into me - which made it depressingly obvious how much she _wasn’t_ when we were dating.)

We agreed that it was suspicious. Well, I thought it meant that Baz had done it on purpose, while Penny thought that it could be a clue to finding a counterspell.

I should be grateful that my actual roommate isn’t trying to snog me. I’d have to sleep in the Wavering Wood otherwise. Still, there’s something fishy about all of it. Even though he insisted otherwise, it could be a plot.

If I’m going to be stuck in my room for the foreseeable future, I may as well try to figure it out.

I consider my options. I can go through his things, again. (I did my standard beginning of term search a few days ago.) I can follow him - though it would need to be after curfew, when I’m safe from everyone else. And, well, I could ask him. There’s no way that he would give me a straight answer, but maybe I could glean something.

I try to brainstorm some questions that I could ask Baz about it. They’re all so embarrassing I might choke. “Hey Baz, any idea why you don’t want to shag me? Hey Baz, are you trying to trap me indoors while you plot my demise? Hey Baz, why am I _so repulsive_ to you?”

Well, I’m practically a skeleton, and covered in more spots than a seventeenth-century milkmaid. It’s not hard to figure out why _Baz_ , objectively the most attractive bloke at Watford, would be repulsed.

By the next day, I’m going truly insane. I hate being cooped up on the best of days, and immediately after spending the summer in care? I think I might blow again.

I pull out my school-issued laptop and navigate to Agatha’s Netflix account. (There’s no WiFi here, so it shouldn’t work, but I’ve been able to get around it with my magic a couple of times.) (Is it weird to keep using your ex’s Netflix? But Agatha is practically family. I’m sure she won’t even notice.)

Just in case, I decide not to watch anything that she hasn’t already seen before. I click through her history - it’s pretty bland. She only watches Dr. Who and those romance films - the unrealistic ones where the boy and girl meet in some weird way and hate each other, then randomly fall in love.

What a load of bollocks. That’s not how it happens. With Agatha and me, it was a slow thing. I looked at her and she looked at me and we were like sure, why not?

I click on one anyway. It looks less boring than the others - there’s guns and fighting and stuff.

The main character acts really tough because blokes were never into her growing up. But then, she has to enter this pageant, and the stylists give her a whole makeover, and suddenly men are falling over her. Honestly, she doesn’t look any different - she’s just wearing different clothes. Like goblins, Hollywood actors are fit even when they’re pretending not to be.

Still, it gives me an idea about how to figure out what’s really going on with Baz.

When we were dating, Agatha was always on me to put shit in my hair and stop wearing trackies. So when she and Penny come by to bring me lunch, I ask if she has any suggestions for my makeover.

“Oh, Simon,” she coos earnestly. “You’re already the pinnacle of male beauty. With your luscious mane and your spotted coat, you’re as gorgeous as a stallion.”

The three of us immediately turn our heads in different directions, avoiding eye contact.

Finally, Agatha clears her throat and says, “You could moisturise. Your face gets dry. And dress better - don’t wear your uniform all the time.”

“What else would I wear?” I ask, baffled.

“Basil dresses well. Maybe you could take some of his clothes.”

Penny launches into a lecture about how that’s a violation of privacy and probably an arrestable offence. That somehow turns into a discussion with Agatha about how I make being a vagabond look sexy, which is more insulting than flattering. I basically shove them out of my room, then.

And immediately try to open Baz’s wardrobe. 

It’s locked, and spelled shut, too. I decide to take the risk - in the name of magickal science - and hit it with an **open sesame**. His clothes fly out all over the room. 

_Merlin’s bollocks._ He’s going to know I went through his wardrobe.

(Well, I suppose when he sees me in his clothes, he’ll know anyway.)

I gather them all into a pile on my bed and start sorting. Baz owns a shocking amount of clothing, considering that he’s required to wear a school uniform everyday except weekends. A lot of them - jumpers and trousers - I’ve seen before. There’s a deep green jumper that’s as soft as I always imagined it would be. I hold it to my face and inhale - smells just as good as he does.

I find his Watford football hoodie and pause. He looks bloody amazing in it - maybe I would too? I used to wear Agatha’s lacrosse sweatshirt, and I think she liked that. Isn’t wearing your significant other’s kit a thing people do?

Maybe other people. What Baz would like is me _not_ sweating through his clothes. So instead of a jumper, I pick a lightweight grey Henley that kind of matches his eyes.

I consider wearing trackies or my uniform trousers, but I don’t think they would make much of an impact on him. I go through all of his trousers and find - jeans.

I’ve never seen Baz in jeans.

I decide to go for those. Maybe he’ll be less upset about them, since he doesn’t seem to like wearing them much. When I try to pull them up, they catch at my thighs - Baz is such a beanpole. I manage not to muck up the spell for making them bigger and somehow wriggle all the way to my waist. They’re still unreasonably tight, especially on my arse, but I don’t trust myself to get the spell right twice. They’re also too long - which is infuriating - so I end up cuffing them. Then I go to the en-suite to check myself out in the mirror.

Well. I don’t look like Baz, but I think Agatha was on to something. I certainly look better than usual.

When I hear someone walking up the stairs I know it must be Baz. After that first morning, he spelled the staircase so no one but the two of us could get to the top. (The ward doesn’t apply to Penny because apparently nothing does. But it’s been right useful for keeping Dev off my tail. If I have to touch another pair of his used pants, I’m going to run him through with my sword.)

I quickly stuff the rest of his clothes into his wardrobe - he probably folds them or some shit, but I don’t have time nor patience - and scramble onto my bed.

As I hear the sound of him opening the door, I panic. This is weird, right? Sort of mental. I grab a book - turns out to be a reference manual for Botany, which at least has pictures - and try to arrange myself on the bed in an alluring fashion. I decide to put the jeans to good use and lay on my stomach with my knees bent up and ankles crossed. Baz always looks good like that.

**BAZ**

It’s been a long fucking day.

I went to the library just to get away from Snow, but it was much too loud. Since I’m his roommate, people decided to take the liberty of approaching me to ask inane questions about Simon - although I did manage to be fairly off-putting. I told each and every one of them what their aesthetic and personality flaws were, and why that made them unsuitable for Simon, and took great pleasure in doing so.

When I get back to my room, Simon is...reading. On the bed. Wearing a soft-looking Henley that I’m pretty sure is mine.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

He looks up and tries raising an eyebrow. I glower back. He’s wearing my favorite jeans. They cost £200!

“Take my trousers off _now_!” I snap. 

Simon’s face lights up and he points at me accusingly. “Ha! I knew you were faking!”

I cross my arms and arrange my features into my most withering glare. “Faking what?”

“Not being attracted to me!”

I replay my words and barely hold back a blush. Rolling my eyes, I reply, “This is a new low, even for you.”

“I don’t understand,” he whines. “Everyone at this school is in love with me! Except you. Did you do this to trap me in my room?”

“Why would I want to trap you?” I scoff. “I’d rather like some space for once after having you here all the time.”

“To - plot,” he answers lamely. “Come on, I stole your clothes and everything. I don’t look _any_ better?”

He looks incredible. I mean, he always does, but in a street-urchin type of way. Now he stills looks like a vagabond, but the cleaned-up type. More into casino heists than petty theft.

“Not as good as me,” I answer.

“Well, obviously,” Simon answers. “Come on, it’s important to finding a counter spell! Look at me. Try to ignore all the hatred and disgust - I know there’s a lot of it.”

I roll my eyes. But I take the time to drink my fill of him. It’s eighth year - the last time I’ll have such infinite opportunities to stare at him. Seeing him in my clothes, it’s almost like - well. Like we’re real friends, the ones who can borrow each other’s things. (Well, I wouldn’t borrow any of Simon’s things. But I’d like him to have some of mine.)

My Watford football hoodie is lying on the floor next to Simon’s bed. He should have worn that instead. I’m always unreasonably jealous when he wears Wellbelove’s lacrosse one.

“So,” Simon says, wiggling his brows. “Feel anything at all?”

“No.”

He looks disappointed. I let myself hope that it’s for any reason other than his Chosen One egoism. That’s the only reason that I offer to help.

(Well, that and the fact that if I have to listen to another sixth year girl moon over Snow, I will start draining people.) (It’s just mortifying how many of the things they say are verbatim my own thoughts.)

“Well, I didn’t cause this to happen to you. If I wanted you out of the way, I would have done so in a manner that was less disruptive to my sleep and my education. That being said, I do think I’m in a unique position to be part of the solution.”

“Huh?”

“Since I’m not affected, I could help you. Figure this out. Normally Bunce would be fully capable of fixing this, but she’s quite out of the game now, isn’t she?”

Simon furrows his brow. “Yeah, I mean. She does try to go to the library, but she says she always ends up in the bodice-ripper section.”

One I’m fairly familiar with myself. (It’s not my fault that many of those unnecessarily ripped knights and dukes on the covers bear a disturbing resemblance to Snow.)

“That’s got it settled, then. You and I are going to do the research ourselves.”

I did manage to borrow some useful books on the subject while I was dodging Snow’s admirers at the library. I cast **nothing to see here** on Simon and we manage to sneak out to the Wavering Wood.

**SIMON**

Baz and I spend nearly six hours in the Wood, researching counterspells. I was on edge at first - I realised that maybe this was his plan all along, to cut me off from everyone else in my life with this love spell so he could catch me alone and defenceless. But, well, I didn’t come up with that theory until we were already sat on the edge of the wood, Baz’s handkerchief spelled into a big blanket underneath us. It was too late by then, so I didn’t think about it anymore.

I wake up extra early the next morning. I’m hoping to get to breakfast before everybody else, so that I can serve myself food. I appreciate Penny and Agatha delivering my meals, but Penny skimps on the butter and Agatha is always bringing me fruit. It’s not that I don’t love fruit - it’s just that there’s only so much she can carry, so she doesn’t bring me as much of the _other_ things I like, like my daily dozen strips of bacon.

I run into Gareth on the third floor landing. He’s wearing a hoodie and trackies, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

“Snow,” he calls out. I hesitate, against my best judgment. I know what’s coming, and it’s probably terrible poetry.

“Fuck you, mate.”

“What?” Does he mean literally fuck me?

“I mean, go to hell. Look, I know we play footie together sometimes and it’s not your fault you suck at magic, but this is just too far.”

“What are you talking about?”

He pulls up his hoodie and I prepare to escape a possible striptease.

Until I see his chest - it’s all red, and covered in tiny blisters.

“Your fucking magic _burned_ me.”

It’s the same with everyone. Agatha gives me an earful as soon as she gets to breakfast. She’s put on stockings under her school skirt to hide the rash, but I can see it all over her hands. Penny’s too.

At least everyone has fallen out of love with me. Though I preferred that to everyone shouting profanities at me.

The infirmary distributes magickal ointments and we’re all sent to the first classes of the year as quickly as possible.

The library is packed when I head there after class. The missed days are being made up at a breakneck pace. Even Penny and Baz seem stressed about it.

“Simon, get the hell out,” Keris says as soon as I walk past her table.

I’m momentarily stunned. Keris is one of the nicest people alive.

“I’m sorry - it’s just, looking at you makes me even more itchy,” she says, sounding the bare minimum of apologetic.

No one moves to defend me. The librarian is giving me the stink eye as she stuffs a back scratcher down the back of her shirt.

I sigh and turn around. I guess I’m turning into my room early today.

I hear the shower running when I get in. Baz must be back from practice, then. (Coach Mac has got the team practicing again, in spite of the hives.)

I’m sitting at my desk, trying to puzzle my way through three chapters of Latin, when Baz finally exits the en-suite.

I turn at the sound, then freeze.

Because Baz isn’t wearing a shirt.

He’s fit. I mean, I’ve caught glimpses before, but never as much as this. Properly fit - toned up and everything - not like my abs over the summer, which is just my skin getting stuck to me when I lose all my fat.

Is that a chest hair? Now I’m properly jealous.

More striking than the chest hair, though, is the angry red rash all around it.

Baz doesn’t notice me staring at him right away. He’s grabbed the ointment from his football bag and is lathering a thick layer on himself. When he does, he turns around right away and pulls on his pyjama shirt.

I prepare myself for the tongue lashing of the century. Gareth plus Keris multiplied by Agatha.

He doesn’t say anything.

Blessedly, the rashes are gone the next day, and nothing’s replaced them. Agatha and Penny and the rest of my classmates are much kinder to me once the effects of my magic finally wear off.

Penny can’t stop talking about it, actually. She got deep into the research over the past few days, and she’s lecturing me about love spells and magickal burns over breakfast.

“Anyway, Florence Nightingale wrote a whole treatise on magickal burns in the year 1929. They’re actually a common side effect of love spells - it used to be believed because passion was fiery, but recently it seems like it’s more of a chemical reaction to all the hormones. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“Sure,” I answer through a mouthful of egg. “That doesn’t make sense, though.” 

Penny looks up from her book.

“Baz had the rash, too. And he wasn’t affected by the love spell. Like, at all.”

Penny frowns. “Are you sure?”

“I think I’d have noticed.”

“That shouldn’t be possible.”

I narrow my eyes at him across the dining hall. “I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

For once, Penny agrees to help me figure out what Baz is plotting.

**PENNY**

Over the past week, Simon and I have pored through every book in the library. I’ve Googled every possible phrase using my contraband cell phone, and I’ve even texted Mum so that she can look through the books we have at home.

“What about the vampire angle again?” Simon asks. I sigh and rub my temples.

“We’ve been over this. The rash wouldn’t have happened if the emotional aspect of the spell hadn’t taken hold. Vampires, if Basil even is one, are less susceptible to physical injury, but equally vulnerable to emotional assaults.”

We’ve come up empty - well. Simon has come up empty. I’ve come up with one theory, but it’s so bizarre that I’d be embarrassed even voicing it. It feels too strange to be true, and even if it were, I don’t think it’s my place to reveal something so personal about somebody else, even to Simon. Especially to Simon.

“It’s just so frustrating,” Simon says, cutting into my thoughts. “It’s not even like he was _trying_ to hide anything. He was around me the whole time and there wasn’t even a hint of a slip-up. He’s so disgusted by me that even a _love spell_ can’t make him like me.”

“Simon, what do you care?” I say. “The rash affected him too; therefore, the love spell must have. So what if he wasn’t mooning over you? You’ve always known there’s no love lost between the two of you.”

“Yeah, well—” Simon sputters for a few seconds before he finally gives up. “I’m gonna go practice with my sword.”

**SIMON**

I don’t go practice with my sword. Instead, I do something that I haven’t done since fifth year: stalk Baz.

It’s evening, so Baz is either at footie practice or back in our room, showering. I’m hoping that he’s back in our room, since privacy is ideal for a confrontation. I’m not usually there at this time, so he might emerge shirtless from the ensuite again. Which would give me the opportunity to investigate that rash more thoroughly. Even though it’s already gone for everyone else. But maybe…

He’s not in our room, but I can see the team practicing from the window, so I head down to the pitch. Penny banned me from attending practices a while ago, but I realise that I’ve missed being at these. Baz is laser-focused during matches, but he’s more relaxed here. When he sees me, his lips curl into a sneer, but his back straightens and he suddenly drives towards Gareth, stealing the ball from him and sinking an effortless goal.

He’s showing off now that I’m here, just to rub in his superiority in absolutely everything. Coach Mac blows the whistle and chastises Baz for going rogue. He doesn’t look a bit cowed when he apologises to the coach. He’s not even looking at him, his eyes boring into mine the entire time.

He doesn’t spare me a glance for the rest of practice. It makes my skin hot, but it also gives me the chance to observe him and just think.

Penny would be shocked to hear it, but I don’t think the love spell or its effects were anything to do with Baz. I can’t stop fixating on it, though. Because I had the chance to see Baz drop his mask for the first time in eight years, and somehow it was stolen from me. He’s as much an enigma as ever.

Practice ends, and suddenly Baz is looking at me again. He pulls the elastic out of his hair and shakes it so that it falls around his face in messy waves. Then he twists off the lid of his water bottle, and instead of taking a drink, he just dumps the whole thing on himself.

His white practice shirt goes see-through and sticks to the ridges of his stomach. I trace them with my eyes, and then follow them down to the level of his shorts. Below the hem, his thighs are defined and covered in wiry black hair. I wonder if his rash extended down his legs, what it looked like to have that perfect creamy skin mottled with the force of my magic —

I swallow and glance quickly at my lap. It’s not the first time I’ve popped a stiffy watching Baz, but it’s the first time I’ve considered that it’s related to an emotion other than rage. (Honestly, I don’t remember learning anything about rage boners in sex ed class. I might have just made those up…)

I adjust myself as subtly as possible, then rapidly retreat to the safety of my room.

Once I’ve settled on the bed with a packet of Baz’s crisps, I realise several things. One, my body has some physical reaction to Baz that isn’t actually fueled by rage. Two, that’s a little gay. Three, even though he wasn’t affected by the love spell, Baz has been nicer than usual this year. It was alright - pleasant, even - to brainstorm solutions to the spell with him in the Wavering Wood earlier.

Four, it’s eighth year, the last year before we have to fight each other on the battlefield or some tosh. Basically, if I’m having some sort of epiphany, I ought to act on it before it’s too late.

Five, Baz has just entered the room, and I’m walking towards him of my own accord.

**BAZ**

Snow’s heart is beating in double time, and I tense up, wondering if he’s decided to slug me despite the anathema after all. Instead, he grabs my face with both hands, yanks it downward, and kisses me.

He’s kissing me. Why is he kissing me? This has to be some sort of ploy —

He opens his mouth and the movement of his chin allows him to catch my bottom lip and run his teeth against it. I gasp, tell myself to stop thinking, and reciprocate enthusiastically.

“Just so you know, I’m not surprised at all,” Bunce says after she walks in on us snogging behind the library’s bodice-ripper section. 

Simon shuffles from side to side, unwilling to meet her eyes and blushing up a storm. “Um, what?”

“The spell. The only reason it wouldn’t affect someone is if they were already accustomed to hiding their intense romantic feelings for the caster.”

I regard her coolly in response. “Congratulations, Bunce. You’ve cracked the case.”

“Intense romantic feelings, huh?” Simon says, suddenly cocky again. I barely catch sight of Bunce rolling her eyes and stalking away before my entire field of view is Snow again. I sigh and let myself fall back against the books. 

I was right. Simon is _much_ hotter than those romance novel cover models.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Say hi on [tumblr](Http://im-gettingby.tumblr.com)!


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